


A Band of Precious Metal

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [22]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Madara should really start to listen to his own advice.





	A Band of Precious Metal

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble shat out in about an hour, mainly as an interlude between writing other things. Mostly unedited soz

From the first intense pulse of pain through his head, Madara knew he would regret waking up that morning. He groaned as he flopped a hand over the throbbing pulse in his skull, the rough noise hurting his apparently sore throat. Whatever he’d decided to drink the night before must have held some sort of poison, why else would the room be spinning before he’d even opened his eyes?

He managed to crack his eyes open, squinting up at the oddly beige ceiling as he tried to swallow the disgusting taste away from his mouth. Some flickers of memory told him he’d gone out drinking with Hashirama after all, despite his best efforts to remind himself of the meriad of reasons that it always ended up going  _horribly wrong_.

At least they hadn’t been arrested this time.

His illhumored chuckle ended in a coughing wheeze, the beginnings of a cold if he knew his body well. It certainly did nothing to settle his rolling stomach, and he prayed to whatever god might take pity on him that he hadn’t eaten anything the night before. The last thing he wanted was to see it again so early in the morning.

One cracked eye rolled over to find a bedstand, the analogue clock hardly readable without his glasses on, but he finally managed to make out that it was well past noon. Well. So early in the  _afternoon_ , then.

He rolled over onto his right side, the position removing some of the strain of his nausea. It also made him realize that his pants were only half on - he blinked down at them under the covers, the jean material tight around his calves. Apparently they’d been too difficult to kick off in his drunken stupor; now he just didn’t feel like wasting the energy when he’d have to shuffle them back on later when he left for home.

Speaking of which... He dropped the quilt back down over himself, frowning at the bright floral pattern. At least he knew this wasn’t a hotel. No respectable business would use such god-awful bedding, certainly not if they wanted returning customers.

Had he went home with someone then? A quick check told him it was unlikely he’d gotten intimate with anyone (or, at the very least, he’d managed to clean up well afterwards), so that didn’t seem like a concern for now. He rolled over onto his back again, shifting his button up around to be more comfortable as he contemplated whether he could will the contents of his stomach still or not.

His hand drifted back up to rub at his temple, breaths purposely as even as possible. It was a stray ray of sunlight that finally called his attention to the band on his finger, and a whole minute of mental processing before he realized what it was.

A ring. There was a ring on his hand. A ring that looked scarily similar to the bands so many married couples toted around with them, flashing silver to signify their status together.

Why on earth would he have a  _wedding ring_  on his finger?

His answer came in a hellish flashback, sending him shooting out of the bed as quickly as his fumbling limbs would allow him.

“ _Hashirama_!”

Once he found himself in a familiar hallway, it was easy enough to storm towards the bathroom, throwing the door open and letting it bang against the wall as if the sound alone didn’t make him want to puke. He found the idiot curled up and groaning, more green in the face than the precious garden he spent so many hours doting on.

“ _We’re married, you idiot_!”

His horrified hissing was met with a pitiful moan that vaguely sounded like “I know”. It left his anger rising, his own nausea stubbornly forced to the side as he went over to shake the man  _who was apparently now his fucking husband!_

“ _I didn’t agree to this_!”

“Apparently-“ Hashirama paused and squeezed his eyes shut, taking several deep breaths through his nose before continuing- “apparently you did.”

That’s all he managed before he was bent back over and worshipping the porcelain gods once more, leaving Madara to sit behind him and hold his hair. He scowled at Hashirama’s back even as he leaned over to grab a towel, searching his memory for any information on how long one had to be married before it could be annulled.

“I’m never drinking with you again.”

Hashirama accepted the towel with a shaky smile, leaning back against Madara once he’d tossed it to the side. “Come on,  _husband_. Don’t say that. Not like next time could be any worse, right?”

“Plenty worse could happen!” As soon as he’d snipped the words out, Madara regretted them with a loud groan, averting his eyes away from the big brown ones now glistening up at him.

“You really mean that? Awww, Maddy!”

It took considerable effort to keep the idiot at bay, the imbecile showing insane strength and determination to crush him even while hungover. In the end Madara gave up with much huffing and puffing, stiff in the embrace and verbally taking back his words and vowing that being married to Hashirama was the absolute  _worst fate_  anyone could ever face.

His complaints went ignored, and Madara was left dealing with a blubbering mess for the rest of the afternoon while his own stomach settled. At the very least, he knew he was lying. There were a  _lot_  worse fates than waking up being married to one’s best friend.


End file.
